Prisoner
by ax546
Summary: What if Sirius Black really was a death eater?
1. Chapter 1

_**Prisoner**_

* * *

Summary: What if Sirius Black was a death eater?

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

Sirius Black stared blankly ahead. He heard footsteps come down from the hallway, big thumping noises. Turning his head to get a sight, he saw it was the Minister himself who had come down to his row. Probably the monthly inspection. Sirius never had any visitors. Across from him was a big rough looking ogre of a werewolf, Greyback or something. Sirius never bothered to get his name. The wolf had a transformation last night, and was sleeping on the floor. 

It seemed Sirius was the only one there to greet the minister. Fudge walked down the aisle like he was shopping, examining each and every cell, no doubt looking for ways to cut back on the costs of running Azkaban. Behind him, the warden followed. He was a fat looking man with small black eyes and greasy hair that reminded him of Severus Snape.

"Hello, Mr Fudge." Sirius called out, looking hungrily at the newspaper in Fudge's arms. Fudge looked nervous. "Yes, Sirius Black is it?"

"Do you think you can let me borrow that newspaper? I want to do the crosswords." Sirius flat out lied. What he really wanted was to check on the news of the outside world. Was Voldemort, his master, back yet? Sirius didn't dare to hope. Hope meant happiness and the dementors sucked that right off a prisoner.

"Sure why not." Fudge said as he threw the paper into his cell. Sirius picked it up with dirty thin fingers, nails chapped at many places, and started flipping threw out in a frenzy. He looked like a madman.

Fudge cleared his throat, Sirius heard but did not look up. "Right, we'll just be leaving then. Good to see you, Mr. Black."

Sirius nodded wordlessly as he looked at page three with an intense stare. Soon the minister and the warden left the hall, talking about additional developments to Azkaban or something like that. Sirius was too focused on the newspaper picture to pay attention to their talks like he normally would.

The picture was one of Harry Potter, the article described his newest adventure in Hogwarts. About how he saved the day from the big bad basilisk along with Lockhart who took a hit to the head. Sirius didn't pay much attention to the text, he was focused on the picture. The same black hair, Lily's eyes, and that. . . scar. That damnable scar – the last wound Voldemort inflicted onto the world before his magical banishment.

The scar.

Sirius felt an intense rage burn inside the pits of his stomach, and then start to rise, fueling his body with energy he had never felt since his incineration in Azkaban. Anger and hate. The two emotions that are key to power, Voldemort had taught him that along with many other things.

Reporters had come and asked why Sirius betrayed the Potters. And Sirius never replied. He knew why, his master knew why, and that was enough. The answer was simple: jealousy. Sirius had been jealous of James – his family, his fortunes that Sirius would never have, he could have it if he bowed to his family but he never bowed to anyone, not even Voldemort. Lily.

Heh. Life with its twists and turns. Bet the Potters never expected that to happen. They probably never expected Sirius himself to betray him. But betray he had. He had learnt from Voldemort, learnt the power of the dark arts, the power of hate and anger, and many many dark spells, powerful spells that would amaze the average. Power was seductive and Sirius had thirsted for it.

He never felt a particular need to escape, he knew he could of course, but he might get caught. And besides, what was the point? He would be running for his life, and with no Voldemort, he wouldn't have a purpose to live, a thirst to conquer. He wouldn't have any genius to lead him to victory. Sirius had never been an independent fellow, but now as he saw that damned picture of Harry Potter, he felt that thirst again. He felt that need to seek power.

And most of all, he felt independence.

Tonight he would escape, he was sure of it.

------

The dementors made their rounds every hour. In the mornings and evenings they would bring a pot of gruel to each prisoner, thick brown liquid porridge that tasted horrible and smelt nasty as well. When the dementors came, Sirius would change into a dog and hide in the corner. Dementors had no eyes so they could not see and their effects was muted on animals. Especially emotional ones like dogs.

Sirius's escape plan was simple. Most good escape plans usually are. He would turn into a dog when the dementors came and when they opened his prison cell, he would slip out underneath their feet, so to speak and escape from the prison. A look out of his small cube window that overlooked the grey ocean told him what he needed to do next: Swim to shore. That would be, Sirius guessed, about a two mile journey. Not long by walking.

By swimming, and with the nutritious food he was eating… it was practically impossible.

So he needed a wand. The wands were with the three aurors who managed this placce, all in an outhouse sort of building, the main Azkaban office was located outside the prison. Breaking in that place, with three fully trained aurors was suicide. He could not get a wand so there was only one option left. He would have to risk the swim.

Sirius waited, tense, the whole day. Sure enough in the evening, when the sun was going down, the dementors came. In front of them, levitating were bowls of what the prisoners called gruel. Grub that tasted like shit. The dementor came, waved a bony hand over the cell door and the door opened with a clank. Sirius, in his mangy black Labrador form slipped out. The dementor didn't even notice.

A dog's vision is black and white. Sirius couldn't see properly and later he would remember it all as some blur. But for now he felt sharp and clear, powerful even as he bounded across the hall, down the stairs to the main floor, and out the doors. The black soil felt painful underneath the dog's soft paws, but Sirius pressed on. He reached the ocean and jumped in, making a big splash amid the waves.

Then he swam. For how long he didn't know, but he swam and swam, and he lost consciousness a couple of times, but in the morning he woke up, safely on shore.

Sirius Black had escaped.

-----

The next day, Auror Smith made his rounds across the prison. He came to a stop at Sirius Black's cell. The color drained from his face. "Black? Black where the hell are you? I swear if this is a joke, I'll beat you to a pulp."

No Black. The cell door was closed, but Sirius Black was not there. He had escaped, and there would be hell to pay now. "Oh Jesus," The auror cried as he started run to the warden. "Escape! Escape!"

In the end, there was no sign of Sirius Black in the prison. The ministry was informed that a highly dangerous death eater escaped from the prison. A team of twenty aurors were sent down to track Sirius down. This was a crack team, the best of the best. Meanwhile, reporters had a field day with this after an inside source in the ministry informed them that the dangerous Sirius Black was missing. The headlines were disastrous for Fudge, making his polls go down by 30 percent.

**_SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN! _**

**_FUDGE SCREWS UP… AGAIN! SIRIUS BLACK HAS ESCAPED. _**

**_SIRIUS BLACK, NUMBER 2 RIGHT AFTER YOU-KNOW-WHO ESCAPES! _**

**_SIRIUS BLACK IS ON THE RUN, MINISTRY CLUELESS. _**

A worldwide manhunt warrant was issued, the ministry reward was three hundred thousand galleons for any information leading to the capture of Sirius Black, and one million galleons for Sirius himself, dead or alive. The muggles were also aware of this and it was broadcasted all across the nation as Harry Potter found out.

-----------

Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually. 

Harry sat down between Dudley and Uncle Vernon, a large, beefy man with very little neck and a lot of mustache. Far from wishing Harry a happy birthday, none of the Dursleys made any sign that they had noticed Harry enter the room, but Harry was far too used to this to care. He helped himself to a piece of toast and then looked up at the reporter on the television, who was halfway through a report on an escaped convict:

"... The public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hot line has been set up, and any sighting of Black should be reported immediately."

"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"

He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed.

The reporter had reappeared.

"The Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries will announce today --"

"Hang on!" barked Uncle Vernon, staring furiously at the reporter. "You didn't tell us where that maniac's escaped from! \What use is that? Lunatic could be coming up the street right now!"

Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors.

"When will they learn," said Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his large purple fist, "that hanging's the only way to deal with these people?"

"Very true," said Aunt Petunia, who was still squinting into next door's runner beans.

Uncle Vernon drained his teacup, glanced at his watch, and added, "I'd better be off in a minute, Petunia. Marge's train gets in at ten."

Harry, whose thoughts had been upstairs with the Broomstick Servicing Kit, was brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump.

"Aunt Marge?" he blurted out. "Sh -- she's not coming here, is she?"

Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, in a house with a large garden, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly vividly in Harry's mind.

At Dudley's fifth birthday party, Aunt Margo had whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick to stop him from beating Dudley at musical statues. A few years later, she had turned up at Christmas with a computerized robot for Dudley and a box of dog biscuits for Harry. On her last visit, the year before Harry started at Hogwarts, Harry had accidentally trodden on the tail of her favorite dog. Ripper had chased Harry out into the garden and up a tree, and Aunt Marge had refused to call him off until past midnight. The memory of this incident still brought tears of laughter to Dudley's eyes.

"Marge'll be here for a week," Uncle Vernon snarled, 11 and while we're on the subject" -- he pointed a fat finger threateningly at Harry -- "we need to get a few things straight before I go and collect her."

Dudley smirked and withdrew his gaze from the television. Watching Harry being bullied by Uncle Vernon was Dudley's favorite form of entertainment.

"Firstly," growled Uncle Vernon, "you'll keep a civil tongue in your head when you're talking to Marge."

"All right," said Harry bitterly, "if she does when she's talking to me.

"Secondly," said Uncle Vernon, acting as though he had not heard Harry's reply, "as Marge doesn't know anything about your abnormality, I don't want any -- any funny stuff while she's here.

You behave yourself, got me?"

"I will if she does," said Harry through gritted teeth.

"And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."

"What?" Harry yelled.

"And you'll be sticking to that story, boy, or there'll be trouble, spat Uncle Vernon.

Harry sat there, white-faced and furious, staring at Uncle Vernon, hardly able to believe it. Aunt Marge coming for a weeklong visit -- it was the worst birthday present the Dursleys had ever given him, including that pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

"Well, Petunia," said Uncle Vernon, getting heavily to his feet, "I'll be off to the station, then. Want to come along for the ride, Dudders?"

"No," said Dudley, whose attention had returned to the television now that Uncle Vernon had finished threatening Harry.

"Duddy's got to make himself smart for his auntie," said Aunt Petunia, smoothing Dudley's thick blond hair. "Mummy's bought him a lovely new bow tie."

Uncle Vernon clapped Dudley on his porky shoulder. "See you in a bit, then," he said, and he left the kitchen.

Harry, who had been sitting in a kind of horrified trance, had a sudden idea. Abandoning his toast, he got quickly to his feet and followed Uncle Vernon to the front door.

Uncle Vernon was pulling on his car coat.

"I'm not taking you," he snarled as he turned to see Harry watching him.

"Like I wanted to come," said Harry coldly. "I want to ask you something."

Uncle Vernon eyed him suspiciously.

"Third years at Hog -- at my school are allowed to visit the village sometimes," said Harry.

"So?" snapped Uncle Vernon, taking his car keys from a hook next to the door.

"I need you to sign the permission form," said Harry in a rush.

"And why should I do that?" sneered Uncle Vernon.

"Well," said Harry, choosing his words carefully, "it'll be hard work, pretending to Aunt Marge I go to that St. Whatsits --"

"St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys!" bellowed Uncle Vernon, and Harry was pleased to hear a definite note of panic in Uncle Vernon's voice.

"Exactly," said Harry, looking calmly up into Uncle Vernon's large, purple face. "It's a lot to remember. I'll have to make it sound convincing, won't I? What if I accidentally let something slip?"

"You'll get the stuffing knocked out of you, won't you?" roared Uncle Vernon, advancing on Harry with his fist raised. But Harry stood his ground.

"Knocking the stuffing out of me won't make Aunt Marge forget what I could tell her," he said grimly.

Uncle Vernon stopped, his fist still raised, his face an ugly puce.

"But if you sign my permission form," Harry went on quickly, "I swear I'll remember where I'm supposed to go to school, and I'll act like a Mug -- like I'm normal and everything."

Harry could tell that Uncle Vernon was thinking it over, even if his teeth were bared and a vein was throbbing in his temple.

"Right," he snapped finally. "I shall monitor your behavior carefully during Marge's visit. If, at the end of it, you've toed the line and kept to the story, I'll sign your ruddy form."

He wheeled around, pulled open the front door, and slammed it so hard that one of the little panes of glass at the top fell out.

Harry didn't return to the kitchen. He went back upstairs to his bedroom. If he was going to act like a real Muggle, he'd better start now. Slowly and sadly he gathered up all his presents and his birthday cards and hid them under the loose floorboard with his homework. Then he went to Hedwig's cage. Errol seemed to have recovered; he and Hedwig were both asleep, heads under their wings. Harry sighed, then poked them both awake.

"Hedwig," he said gloomily, "you're going to have to clear off for a week. Go with Errol. Ron'll look after you. I'll write him a note, explaining. And don't look at me like that" -- Hedwig's large amber eyes were reproachful -- "it's not my fault. It's the only way I'll be allowed to visit Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione."

Ten minutes later, Errol and Hedwig (who had a note to Ron bound to her leg) soared out of the window and out of sight. Harry, now feeling thoroughly miserable, put the empty cage away inside the wardrobe.

But Harry didn't have long to brood. In next to no time, Aunt Petunia was shrieking up the stairs for Harry to come down and get ready to welcome their guest.

"Do something about your hair!" Aunt Petunia snapped as he reached the hall.

Harry couldn't see the point of trying to make his hair lie flat. Aunt Marge loved criticizing him, so the untidier he looked, the happier she would be.

All too soon, there was a crunch of gravel outside as Uncle Vernon's car pulled back into the driveway, then the clunk of the car doors and footsteps on the garden path.

"Get the door!" Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry.

A feeling of great gloom in his stomach, Harry pulled the door open.

On the threshold stood Aunt Marge. She was very like Uncle Vernon: large, beefy, and purple- faced, she even had a mustache, though not as bushy as his. In one hand she held an enormous suitcase, and tucked under the other was an old and evil-tempered bulldog.

"Where's my Dudders?" roared Aunt Marge. "Where's my neffy-poo?"

Dudley came waddling down the hall, his blond hair plastered flat to his fat head, a bow tie just visible under his many chins. Aunt Marge thrust the suitcase into Harry's stomach, knocking the wind out of him, seized Dudley in a tight one-armed hug, and planted a large kiss on his cheek.

Harry knew perfectly well that Dudley only put up with Aunt Marge's hugs because he was well paid for it, and sure enough, when they broke apart, Dudley had a crisp twenty-pound note clutched in his fat fist.

"Petunia!" shouted Aunt Marge, striding past Harry as though he was a hat stand. Aunt Marge and Aunt Petunia kissed, or rather, Aunt Marge bumped her large jaw against Aunt Petunia's bony cheekbone.

Uncle Vernon now came in, smiling jovially as he shut the door.

"Tea, Marge?" he said. "And what will Ripper take?"

"Ripper can have some tea out of my saucer," said Aunt Marge as they all proceeded into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone in the hall with the suitcase. But Harry wasn't complaining; any excuse not to be with Aunt Marge was fine by him, so he began to heave the case upstairs into the spare bedroom, taking as long as he could.

By the time he got back to the kitchen, Aunt Marge had been supplied with tea and fruitcake, and Ripper was lapping noisily in the corner. Harry saw Aunt Petunia wince slightly as specks of tea and drool flecked her clean floor. Aunt Petunia hated animals.

"Who's looking after the other dogs, Marge?" Uncle Vernon asked.

"Oh, I've got Colonel Fubster managing them," boomed Aunt Marge. "He's retired now, good for him to have something to do. But I couldn't leave poor old Ripper. He pines if he's away from me."

Ripper began to growl again as Harry sat down. This directed Aunt Marge's attention to Harry for the first time.

"So!" she barked. "Still here, are you?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Don't you say yes' in that ungrateful tone," Aunt Marge growled. "It's damn good of Vernon and Petunia to keep you. Wouldn't have done it myself. You'd have gone straight to an orphanage if you'd been dumped on my doorstep."

Harry was bursting to say that he'd rather live in an orphanage than with the Dursleys, but the thought of the Hogsmeade form stopped him. He forced his face into a painful smile.

"Don't you smirk at me!" boomed Aunt Marge. "I can see you haven't improved since I last saw you. I hoped school would knock some manners into you." She took a large gulp of tea, wiped her mustache, and said, "Where is it that you send him, again, Vernon?"

"St. Brutus's," said Uncle Vernon promptly. "It's a first-rate institution for hopeless cases."

"I see," said Aunt Marge. "Do they use the cane at St. Brutus's, boy?" she barked across the table.

"Er --"

Uncle Vernon nodded curtly behind Aunt Marge's back.

"Yes," said Harry. Then, feeling he might as well do the thing properly, he added, "all the time."

"Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "loads of times."

Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.

"I still don't like your tone, boy," she said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case."

Perhaps Uncle Vernon was worried that Harry might forget their bargain; in any case, he changed the subject abruptly.

"Heard the news this morning, Marge? What about that escaped prisoner, eh?"

As Aunt Marge started to make herself at home, Harry caught himself thinking almost longingly of life at number four without her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia usually encouraged Harry to stay out of their way, which Harry was only too happy to do. Aunt Marge, on the other hand, wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person.

"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," she said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Harry tried to concentrate on his food, but his hands shook and his face was starting to burn with anger. Remember the form, he told himself Think about Hogsmeade. Don't say anything. Don't rise

Aunt Marge reached for her glass of wine.

"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup --"

At that moment, the wineglass Aunt Marge was holding exploded in her hand. Shards of glass flew in every direction and Aunt Marge sputtered and blinked, her great ruddy face dripping.

"Marge!" squealed Aunt Petunia. "Marge, are you all right?"

"Not to worry," grunted Aunt Marge, mopping her face with her napkin. "Must have squeezed it too hard. Did the same thing at Colonel Fubster's the other day. No need to fuss, Petunia, I have a very firm grip..."

But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were both looking at Harry suspiciously, so he decided he'd better skip dessert and escape from the table as soon as he could.

Outside in the hall, he leaned against the wall, breathing deeply It had been a long time since he'd lost control and made something explode. He couldn't afford to let it happen again. The Hogsmeade form wasn't the only thing at stake -- if he carried on like that, he'd be in trouble with the Ministry of Magic.

Harry was still an underage wizard, and he was forbidden by wizard law to do magic outside school. His record wasn't exactly clean either. Only last summer he'd gotten an official warning that had stated quite clearly that if the Ministry got wind of any more magic in Privet Drive, Harry would face expulsion from Hogwarts.

He heard the Dursleys leaving the table and hurried upstairs out of the way.

Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.

At last, at long last, the final evening of Marge's stay arrived. Aunt Petunia cooked a fancy dinner and Uncle Vernon uncorked several bottles of wine. They got all the way through the soup and the salmon without a single mention of Harry's faults; during the lemon meringue pie, Uncle Vernon bored them A with a long talk about Grunnings, his drill-making company; then Aunt Petunia made coffee and Uncle Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

"Can I tempt you, Marge?"

Aunt Marge had already had quite a lot of wine. Her huge face was very red.

"Just a small one, then," she chuckled. "A bit more than that... and a bit more... that's the ticket."

Dudley was eating his fourth slice of pie. Aunt Petunia was sipping coffee with her little finger sticking out. Harry really wanted to disappear into his bedroom, but he met Uncle Vernon's angry little eyes and knew he would have to sit it out.

"Aah," said Aunt Marge, smacking her lips and putting the empty brandy glass back down. "Excellent nosh, Petunia. It's normally just a fry-up for me of an evening, with twelve dogs to look after..." She burped richly and patted her great tweed stomach. "Pardon me. But I do like to see a healthy-sized boy," she went on, winking at Dudley. "You'll be a proper-sized man, Dudders, like your father. Yes, I'll have a spot more brandy, Vernon..."

"Now, this one here --"

She jerked her head at Harry, who felt his stomach clench. The Handbook, he thought quickly.

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was- Weak. Underbred."

Harry was trying to remember page twelve of his book: A Charm to Cure Reluctant Reversers. "It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day.

Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia" she patted Aunt Petunia's bony hand with her shovellike one "but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry was staring at his plate, a funny ringing in his ears. Grasp your broom firmly by the tail, he thought. But he couldn't remember what came next. Aunt Marge's voice seemed to be boring into him like one of Uncle Vernon's drills.

"This Potter, 5) said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents.

"He -- didn't work," said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed."

"As I expected!" said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who --"

"He was not," said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life.

"MORE BRANDY!" yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on --"

"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) --"

'They didn't die in a car crash!" said Harry, who found himself on his feet.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little --"

But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger -- but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech -- next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls -- she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami --

"MARGE!" yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg.

Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters.

"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"

But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.

"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."

He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door.

"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."

And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm.

Harry's heart was thumping. He was gong to get in big trouble with the ministry now. Maybe expelled. Maybe even sent to Azkaban, where Hagrid used to be. He had to act fast. He raced upstairs, got his trunk and wand out, and rushed out the door.

He was alone in the night as he stopped, gasping. Number Four was safely behind him, but where to go from now. He started to feel panicky again, and ran some more. He tripped on a root and fell to the side, trunk sprawled openly beside him.

Then something came out of the park, something big and black. It was a dog. A fierce looking one too and it was headed right at him. No, not at him. Beside him.

Harry watched the dog in fear as the dog grabbed his wand in it's mouth and backed off. Then the dog changed into a man. Harry gasped. The dog was an animagus. And more importantly…

"You-You are Sirius Black!"

Sirius grinned, "And you are Harry Potter. How would you like to feel some pain? _Crucio!" _


	2. Chapter 2

hey guys here is chapter two of Prisoner story. Just for people who have bad memories like me here is the summary: Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban and has put Harry under the crucio. Ok on with the story.

Chapter Two -- Kidnapping

Harry was staring at Sirius in horror as he saw the white beam coming right at him. He ducked, the beam went overhead and hit the lamp of the street light. It blew apart sending shards of glass everywhere.

Harry left his trunk where it was and started running down the street in terror. All he could think of was that man was a wizard and he wanted to kill me. He was used to this of course what with Voldemort still out there, and that chamber of secrets incident. But now he felt panic nibbling away at him and all he could think of was to get the hell out.

Sirius was chasing him, hard. Harry could hear his footsteps on the empty street. It was dark and when he looked back all he could see was a blur. But he knew that Sirius was chasing him and he knew he had to get away. He went down an alleyway and started running harder. Sprinting, as fast as he could.

The alleyway was red, that was all he could remember later. Red bricked walls on either side, and a lot of garbage. He neared the end of the alleyway and realized his mistake. This was a dead end! Sirius's footsteps were coming closer and closer, Harry could hear them clearly.

When you are scared silly out of your miind, your senses get clearer, and sharper, Harry had noticed. Survival's instincts perhaps. Or maybe it was the adrenaline in his bloodstream. There was no light in this alley way, but he could see Sirius Black clearly.

Dirty, rugged beard, unshaved, puffy and bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep, wearing torn rags, had cuts all over his body... He looked like the murderer he was. Harry backed away as Sirius approached menacingly, until his back hit the wall. There was no way to go, this was a dead end.

"Well well well Mr. Potter..." Sirius said softly, but his voice carried. "You shouldn't run away, you know."

"Who-who are you?" Harry stammered out in an effort to buy time.

"My name is Sirius Black, and I have escaped from Azkaban. A tiring journey for sure," Sirius said, grinning widely. "But its worth it because I finally found you." He took a step closer, wand out and pointed at Harry's heart.

"No, please." Harry said, heart thumping as he backed into a corner. "I didn't do anything to you, just leave me alone. I won't tell, so the police won't know that-"

"You fool! You think I care about the muggles? Or even the aurors? I don't give a damn, because I have what I want, and this time there will be no running away." Sirius narrowed his eyes, "Crucio," He said it like he was just having tea, very casual and slick.

The white beam impaled itself onto Harry's heart, and Harry felt pin pricks all over his body. They intensified slowly until Harry felt his skin tearing apart. He was dying and in a lot of pain. He started screaming, as loud as he could. It felt like hours, the pain was like lightning bolts all over his body, his eyes were getting ripped out of his skill, blood was seeping out of his skin, a tooth in his mouth fell out, the base of his tongue tore a bit.

Then Sirius lifted the curse away, a sad almost contemplative look on his face. Maybe wistful too. "I knew your father, Harry. James Potter was a good man, a bit foolish in the head, but good nonetheless."

"You-" Harry spat out blood.

"I killed him you know."

Harry looked up, alarmed, "What?"

"Yes, I killed him. Well not really, Voldemort killed him physically but I was his secret keeper. You know that right?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry stammered out.

"Fidelous charm. It's a spell that keeps the people protected inside a location, and only the secret keeper of the charm can reveal the location. They made me secret keeper."

"But why? You are a death eater!"

"Of course I am, but they didn't know that. They thought I was Sirius Black, a rougish Gryfindor. As if I ever was a true Gryfinddor, pah!" Sirius spat green mucus on the ground.

"What they don't know is that Gryfinddors are brave, but Slytherins are the sneaky ones. No, they knew that, but they didn't see it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry was recouvering now.

"Your father was a maurader, Harry. A prankster, we were a group, me Remus, your father, and Peter Pettigrew. I killed two of them."

Harry seemed confused, but that was just a mask. His eyes were darting back and forth. He wanted to get out of here!

"I made the plans you know, that was my Slytherin side. I am a Black, a pureblood. We are natural Slytherins trained in youth in the arts of cunning and trickery. I was the true genious. Did you know we were all animagus? That's wizards who can turn into animals. But who did all the work? Who made sure we didn't get caught? Me! ME! ME!" Sirius was shouting now.

"why did you betray my parents?" Harry asked. He had to buy more time, had to think of a way to escape. Perhaps he should run? No, Sirius would kill him straight away. He started to inch closer as Sirius went on preparing for a futile leap to safety.

"I don't know. It just seemed like a good thing to do, so I did it."

"what?"

"Voldemort offered me your mother, and she was very pretty. I took it." He shrugged. "It was fun while I was a death eater. I did a lot of... fun things."

"You were in love with my mother?"

Sirius sneered. "That bitch? That prussy hag? 'Oooh do this! oooh do that! That's a rule you cant break it! Stop this pranking nonsense at once! Study harder! Do this! Do that!' Pah, what a mudblood bitch."

Harry was slowly inching closer until Sirius was only ten feet away from him, then summoning all his energy, he bent his legs and jumped as far as he could. Then he pounded away, sprinting hard, running past Sirius.

"Hey, wha-!"

Harry ran harder. Then he felt his legs freeze up and he fell to the street pavement, hitting his chin against a little rock. Blood seeped out of his mouth.

Sirius laughed. "Who do you think I am? I am the best, the BEST auror on the force, you know. Better than James, better than Dumbledore even. I beat Flitwick in the duelling tournements too all the time. Hell, I could even match Voldemort in one of our spars."

Sirius sneered. Harry turned around and the last thing he saw before unconsiousness took him was Sirius, looking at him in disgust. Then a red light (Stupefy!) and then... nothing.

------

When Harry woke up, he was in a hard oak chair, in a very dark room. He could see nothing for a few minutes. He only felt his hands bound behind him in tight rope and his legs bound as well. There was a gag on his mouth. Then his vision turned sharper. Night vision, he supposed. There was window in the upper right corner that gave off light from the moon. Pale white light, and he could see he was in some sort of cellar maybe. It smelt of soil and mud, there were cartons stacked and he could see there were books in it. There was a burnt out candle next to him, on a small table. There was a bed under the window. The man - Sirius Black - was sleeping underneath the blankets.

Harry groaned, the gag tasted like cigerrate and bitter coffee. Who had it in their mouth last? There was also the bitter iron taste of blood. Harry tried to spit it out but it was in a tight knot. He tried to move his hands, and his legs, and found he couldn't. He was stuck! Trapped in with a death eater!

He felt helpless and tears came down his face. Normally he didn't cry. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, wait he could. It was when he was six years old and the Dursleys bought Dudley five christmas presents. Harry got none. He started bawling and Vernon threw him in the closet which then became his bedroom.

He had never cried since.

Now however silent tears streamed down his face as he realized he would die. In pain no doubt. He had so many things he wanted to do though like finish Hogwarts, play more Quidditch, travel the world (most kids had that, he supposed) and do so much! He wanted to live his life! He didn't want to die.

But it seemed like he would, Harry thought. He was sitting in that chair, helpless until Sirius woke up and killed him. Or worse. He had heard tales from Voldemort's reign, where people were tortured night and day, and kept starved in the dungeons, naked except for robes made out of muggle newspaper.

He had also learnt of the holocaust in school, he had read it in the library when he was ten and Dudley and his gang were chasing him. He had snuck in to the bright well lit library. Nobody was there, the librarian was out to lunch. So he sat in a corner between the shelves and took out a book titled Holocaust. There were pictures there, of jews tortured and such.

It gave him nightmares for weaks. He had never forgotton. Now he wondered what sort of torture Sirius would put him through. The tears - tears of helplessness, lonliness came out. He remembered how he had no parents, just an orphan boy, and he was living on borrowed time. Now it came back, and he would die now.

"Oh stop your snivelling, brat." Sirius said and with a wave of his hand the gag dissapeared. He had woken up it seemed, Harry thought in morbid terror.

"You-y-you're gonna kill me." Harry said through tears - natural tears all helpless children in danger must have.

"No I am not," Sirius said slowly. "I wish I could, it would make my whole life so much easier, and better, but I won't because that's not how I roll."

Sirius leapt out of bed and grabbed Harry's hair and pulled back. Harry screamed. "Listen up, brat. This is what I am going to do. I will find the remaining death eaters not in Azkaban, rally them up, free the death eaters in Azkaban and take over the wizarding world."

"What about Voldemort?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He noticed something and knew he should have noticed it before. It filled him with a strange horror: Sirius did not flinch like Snape or the others when Harry said Voldemort's name.

"What about him? He's dead, gone for good, and honestly I am glad. That fuckin' half blood made us bow before him, pah, if he hadn't offed himself because of your bitch mother's little trap I would have killed him myself sooner or later."

Harry's eyes widened. "What's going to happen to me then?" He asked ratiionally, as rational as he could be in this situation that is.

"I am going to use you to get into Hogwarts and kill Dumbledore." Sirius said, grinning crazily.

"He-You will never kill him!"

Sirius's grin fell off his face. He backhanded Harry leaving a pink handprint on Harry's left cheek. Another tooth fell out to the cold cement floor. "I will you just see it I will. I goddam will you hear me!"

He turned around so Harry could see his back. Then Sirius turned back, the crazy grin once again etched on his face. "Its going to be amazing, my world. There will be no such thing as rules or teachers or aurors or even police. It's a dog eat dog world, or I am going to make it so. And guess who's going to be top dog?"

Sirius changed into a black labrador, teeth bared in an insane grin with drool foaming out of the mouth, wide sharp eyes that put a chill in Harry's neck. "Woof woof," Sirius said. Then he changed back to a man again.

He's crazy. Harry thought. He's wacko, out of h is mind! The thought gave him no comfort.

Sirius waved his wand - no, Harry's wand - and the gag came back on. Then Sirius lifted a palm to Harry's forehead and whispered, "Light's out."

Harry fell into a deep sleep in a second. The last thing he saw was the moonlight on Sirius's face and that insane looking grin. It filled Harry with a kind of sadness and pity. This man wasn't himself anymore, he was something less now. The terror didn't go away though.

He dreamt in his sleep. He was walking down a long red colored path. Around him there was nothing but darkness. Then his parents appeared on either side, until they were walking with him. They were cast in a golden hue, and had eyes that showed infinite sadness and pain. They were silent.

Harry looked at them in confusion but he kept walking. He tried to stop but he couldn't. He had to keep walking, that was all he knew. Then in front of him, a big ball that looked like the moon appeared. It was the size of a full grown man. The moon had red eyes, and a mouth that showed rows of jagged shark teeth. It said in a cold voice, 'I will kill Dumbledore... I will kill Dumbledore... I will kill Dumbledore...' Then a grin appeared, and the moon launched itself into the darkness, dissapearing out of sight.

Then to the left of him, his mother spoke. It was slow, like she was having a hard time breathing.

"Si...Sirius... Is...innocent..." She was saying in a sickly voice.

"He... has... changed... because... of... Azkaban..." James said wearily.

"He... is... really... INNOCENT!' They both yelled that out loud and then dissapeared into the darkness. Harry could hear echoes of the last word.

"Innocent... Innocent... Innocent..."

Then he woke up, sweat beads lining his face. It was daylight and the room was empty. After a while he calmed down and his thoughts drifted, hunger nibbled at his stomach. Then he forgot about his dream.

The Divination experts would call this dream a message from the beyond, but Harry hadn't taken divination yet. And he probably never would. So he didn't know or understand his parents' message. He didn't know or understand that Sirius was not really a death eater... Azkaban had just made him crazy.

And crazy he would stay.

He remembered a story from when he was a child, right after he woke up and right before he forgot the dream.

When Harry was a little child, across the street from the Dursleys, the neighbors (who moved away a year later) had a dog. A nice puppy. She was tied to a wooden fence in the front lawn every day all day in the hot summer sun. The kids came by to pet it and she always had a nice smile on her face and wagged her tail friendlyily. Then the smile came off slowly gradually as the dog stayed in the hot summer sun, no water around. Soon the tale stopped wagging. But the kids came anyways and petted the dog on the head. Harry never came, he could see the dog's expression and it scared him. He always skirted away from the dog.

But the kids came anyways everyday all summer until suddenly the dog wasn't so friendly. It was growling now whenever anyone approached, and had a mean look on her face.

Then it happened. The stick on the camel's back broke, and when a kid, blonde haired, blue eyed, fatter than Dudley, came and petted the dog, the dog bit the boy in the stomach.

Harry had watched it from afar when he was pulling the weeds.

Sirius looked like that dog. 


End file.
